


Red Devil, White Angel

by laydeemayhem



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale has an Idea, Aziraphale is feeling thirsty, Crowley is having Feelings, Do You Wanna Build A Greenhouse, Here we go, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Oh Dear, and there's lots of romantic mush afterwards, but only a wee bit, in this house we love snake!Crowley, it gets a little angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25629832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laydeemayhem/pseuds/laydeemayhem
Summary: It's been a year since the Notpocalypse and Aziraphale wants to ask Crowley a very big question. Leave it up to the angel to get in his own way as usual!Featuring snake!Crowley, secret plans, Grand Unveilings and a whole lotta awkward mess before these two loveable twits work their shit out.Written for the Glasgow Fanfic Open Mic Night July 2020
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Red Devil, White Angel

Aziraphale took a step back to admire his work. The anaemic London sunlight made an effort to shine through the glass roof and walls of the room he was standing in but it really wasn’t good enough. Aziraphale stared pointedly at the sky until the clouds grudgingly parted and the whole room was suffused in a warm and comforting golden glow. 

“That’s more like it,” he declared, lacing his hands over his waistcoat and beaming at the verdant plant life that filled the greenhouse. They rustled back their happiness, a gentle susurration of joy that spread to the corners of the room. In the centre on a small hillock that Aziraphale had planted with grass was his pride and joy - the first plants that he had bought when he’d had the idea for the greenhouse a couple of months ago. 

As always he had been sitting with Crowley in his study at the bookshop, sipping tea and not rushing to do too much of anything. Aziraphale was sat on the sofa looking through some interior design catalogues for side tables (if pressed Aziraphale would pointedly say that the redecoration of his bookshop into the modern style* was something that he had chosen to do himself, and it certainly wasn’t so that a particular ex-demon might feel more comfortable in the space and spend more time there, no matter what Anathema says.) (*the modern style in this case was the sumptuous yet clean lines of Art Deco, which was of course 100 years out of date but at least Aziraphale was trying), and Crowley had been leafing through a gardening magazine, sprawled out next to him, their feet barely touching on the geometric print rug. 

“Haha, look!” he had exclaimed, shoving the magazine into Aziraphale’s eye line. “There’s an apple tree here called a White Angel, and look at the flowers, look! Just like your hair. Amazing how sometimes humans stumble over the exact right thing.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, remembering a somewhat different fruit tree from a long long time ago. “Yes, it’s quite pretty.” 

Crowley harrumphed. “Quite pretty,” he mocked with a twist to his grin. “If it isn’t books you haven’t any interest.”

Aziraphale frowned. That was a little unfair. “Well now, I’m not quite sure that’s entirely true. I like the theatre as you well know, and attending art galleries. Oh, and I watched that film with you that one time, when we had the day off from watching Warlock.”

“Yes, yes, and what’s the thread connecting it all? Books. All your favourites are book adaptations. _The Mousetrap, Our Town,_ even the mafia film was adapted from a non-fiction book! And anyway, you haven’t even been to the theatre in ages,” he finished in a bit of a rush, sitting upright and away from Aziraphale, his glasses slipping down his nose in his vehemence. 

Aziraphale didn’t really know what to say. It’s true, they hadn’t left the bookshop for more than a meal here or there in, well, the past year he supposed. It hadn’t registered; since the Notpocalypse Aziraphale had been revelling in his new found freedom from Heaven’s petty orders, and so he’d done the things he’d wanted to be doing when he wanted to do them. If that meant that 90% of his time was spent relaxing with a book with Crowley nearby for company, then he couldn’t see much problem with that. Where this sudden outburst from Crowley had come from he was not sure but he wasn’t completely certain it was about books.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Crowley pulling an odd face, a flicker of something - regret, maybe? - in his yellow eyes as he slid his glasses back into place. The gap yawned between them on the couch. A funny sort of silence fell over the room, and they didn’t really speak much to each other again before Crowley left the bookshop to check on his plants and didn’t come back that evening. Aziraphale sat up in the armchair at the window, waiting for a glimpse of Crowley’s signature sinuous walk to appear through the streetlights and trying not to feel empty when it didn’t.

The next day when Crowley came over there was an unspoken agreement between the two of them not to mention the awkwardness of the day before, and life fell mostly back into the new routines that they had created for themselves after the Notpocalypse and Adam had set them loose from their respective bosses. There was a niggle at the back of Aziraphale’s mind though that wouldn’t quite let go no matter how much he tried to ignore it. Perhaps he had become a tad… focused, in his interests. He must have done other things before the advent of the printing press, enjoyed other hobbies. There was always food, of course, and he had sampled the delights of every country that came and went on Earth, oftentimes with Crowley by his side. Maybe that was the difference. Reading was, by nature, a somewhat solitary practice. You could talk to other people about what you’d read but when it came down to it, it was just you and the book and your own imagination. That was one of the reasons Aziraphale loved it so, you couldn’t disappoint other people when you were reading a book by yourself, and he did find the company of many people quite tiresome in long stretches, Crowley being a glaring exception to that of course. In fact, Aziraphale didn’t mind at all when Crowley sat around whilst he was reading, which in and of itself spoke to how much he enjoyed the demon’s company. 

Thinking on it, though, he had always enjoyed eating out more when Crowley was there, even if the other didn’t partake in more than a cup of coffee. Their conversation was always animated, as Crowley loved to play devil’s advocate to Aziraphale’s more angelic demeanour. Crowley seemed to enjoy himself too, offering up the occasional personal anecdote for Aziraphale’s judgement. Which come to think of it was mostly plant related, so it’s not like Crowley had a leg to stand on when it came down to criticising Aziraphale’s specific interests. 

_Oh,_ thought Aziraphale to himself, having a light bulb moment. _He wanted to talk about plants. He likes plants. Maybe he wanted me to take an interest in what he likes?_ Aziraphale was floored that he hadn’t thought to take an active role in appreciating Crowley’s leisure activities more over the years. He supposed it was easy enough to forget to do so when almost all of your conversations were work-related, but they’d been workplace acquaintances for thousands of years, and then the last eleven years caring for Warlock had seen them in close enough contact for long enough that Aziraphale moved quickly from viewing Crowley as a friend to his best friend (if you didn’t include the fact that Aziraphale had had a raging crush on Crowley since 1941 and the book incident, which he definitely didn’t and would deny if Anathema asked about it again). He had not had a lot of practice expressing a more casual regard about Crowley’s doings, and the more he thought on that the more he felt ashamed to call himself Crowley’s best friend. Clearly it was time for Aziraphale to pull himself together and be the best best friend Crowley could ever hope for. 

And so the Great Rooftop Garden project was started. Well, first of all Aziraphale went and read some books on indoor plants (because of course he did) so that he could have a well-researched conversation with Crowley about the plants he already had, which led into landscape gardening because Aziraphale loves a good Big Old House, and on a different tangent to glass architecture because a lot of Big Old Houses had beautiful orangeries and conservatories. It may have just stayed at that level of interest if Crowley hadn’t gone and got a different idea stuck into Aziraphale’s head at the same time, of a related matter that Aziraphale had been considering for longer than he’d care to admit. 

There had been another unspoken agreement made between them after the Notpocalypse, though this one was more of a long term kind of deal. It started when Aziraphale and Crowley left the Ritz that afternoon with Aziraphale bubbling over in delight at the lemon soufflé and Crowley slouching alongside him with an indulgent smile on his face as the discordant sounds of London rose comfortingly around them, and Aziraphale asked Crowley if he wanted to come back to the bookshop for a cup of coffee and Crowley shrugged laconically and said he had nothing else planned for the day, and so he came back to the shop with Aziraphale and then he never left. 

Well, that’s not completely true. Crowley tended to pop home to his flat at least once a week to check on his plants and pick up his post (which was almost always just glossy adverts and invitations to join a wine-of-the-month club, but it was the principle of the thing. Crowley had actually claimed the latter as a victory to hell of course - all that wasted time and money on inferior alcohol - but hadn’t quite expected the inspiration it would give other humans to come up with more and more ridiculous of-the-month clubs. His favourite was so far was one for a Dip of the Month, with the advert promising “Buy 12 months in advance and get a free pot of tzatziki!” He had signed Aziraphale up immediately.). Apart from that he was almost always to be found in the shop in one form or another. There was a spot near one of the windows that let in a lovely shaft of sunlight during the afternoon and a couple of customers had taken quite a fright when they’d absentmindedly tried to sit down in the armchair positioned just so and were warned off by a loudly hissing snake of quite extraordinary size; in the evenings he was always laid out on the couch in the newly decorated back room. Aziraphale had tried to persuade him to use the bed in the neglected flat upstairs but Crowley had insisted he was fine where he was, so Aziraphale grew used to the tiny whistling snore that now accompanied his reading at night. 

Having Crowley in even closer proximity than when they were both tutors in the Downing’s over sized house was delightful and torturous in turns, Aziraphale found. Crowley was always there, which Aziraphale hadn’t realised was comforting before. He was only really coming to terms with the fact the his 6000 years as the only permanent angel on earth had been in reality very lonely. Aziraphale had always made friends easily, but humans had such short lives in comparison to his, and though he loved his friends dearly there was a cumulative pain that he had been carrying around for a very long time. Loving deeply has its downsides even for angels. Aziraphale wonders sometimes if that’s why he was so resistant to the Arrangement in the first place. Crowley had been creeping into his heart since, well, since Rome, really, even as he’d tried to keep his distance. And then there was Crowley at the Globe, looking so put together with his long hair and his glasses (though Aziraphale was not sold on the beard) and really, Aziraphale was quite enamoured with the hose situation - it turns out Crowley has some quite shapely calves. Anyway. Crowley suggesting that they take on each other’s duties may seem like it should give them less time together but Aziraphale knew that they’d have to report back to each other on their activities so they’d be able to inform Heaven and Hell respectively that their Great Plans were proceeding apace. Which meant pubs and such, which always lead to late night drinking and then Crowley crashing in wherever Aziraphale was taking lodgings to sleep it off. Which meant seeing Crowley more. Aziraphale was already refusing to admit that he was lonely but there was a knot of something in his stomach that unravelled when Crowley smirked at him in a way that he could tell his eyes were all squidged up behind his glasses. If Aziraphale didn’t know better he’d say that Crowley was _fond_ of him. Which was patently ridiculous. 

In the end though, of course, Crowley had managed to persuade him into the Arrangement, and it had soothed Aziraphale to know that there was at least one person out there that could be, in some small way, relied upon. Suddenly losing that support during the Notpcalypse had not helped his decision-making skills, that’s for certain, in fact the notion of losing Crowley forever knocked Aziraphale for six the moment Crowley told him the end of the world was imminent. Going through the pain of losing Crowley who had been Aziraphale’s partner for so many years was unthinkable, and so he’d pushed Crowley away early as some form of reflex, he supposed. Whatever his twisted up reason for it, he can’t help remembering how Crowley had tried to come back for him so many times, not willing to give up on Aziraphale, not really. He had felt a little frisson of _something_ every time Crowley had stood there bold as brass and begged him to come with him, something deep in the centre of him, and now he was feeling that same _something_ every time Crowley came back to the shop after his trips out. He would grandly push the door open with a wave of his hand, and stand there for a moment silhouetted against the light drawling Aziraphale’s name - _“Angel”_ \- and Aziraphale would just fizzle. Crowley was wearing his hair longer again and was slowly shifting towards more feminine cuts to his clothing and Aziraphale just wanted to _touch_. He had worn a wiggle skirt last week and Aziraphale had nearly fallen over. 

So Crowley was a fixture at the shop and at the same time it still felt temporary, even though it had been a year, and since the unfortunate blow up over quite what Aziraphale was not sure, Crowley had been a little more absent than usual and Aziraphale felt the hole he left like a cavity, painful around the edges and hard to ignore. There was nothing permanent of Crowley in the bookshop, not a single plant or discarded scarf. On days where Crowley left Aziraphale sometimes felt like he hadn’t been there at all, that it was all some kind of dream. It was most disagreeable and Aziraphale had decided he wouldn’t stand for it any more. He needed a way to ask Crowley to stay, well, forever. 

If you were an angel with a sudden newfound enthusiasm for plants who also needs a grand gesture to convince his long-term demonic flatmate to settle down in harmony with you in your bookshop for the rest of days, (and in the process perhaps hint in a roundabout way to said flatmate that there was maybe a tad more _feelings_ going on than had been been previously disclosed, maybe) and you had the ability to miracle a greenhouse on top of your stately Soho bookshop, well. That’s how you get something like the Great Rooftop Garden Project. 

Aziraphale had been working on it for three months, mostly at night when Crowley was asleep. It was almost finished now, but Aziraphale had purposely left spaces where he thought Crowley might like to put some of the plants from his flat. The notion of Crowley’s plants nestled in amongst the plants Aziraphale had chosen so carefully made the angel wiggle in hopeful glee. Even if all that came from this plan was Crowley moving in permanently, even if he never returned Aziraphale’s romantic feelings, he was feeling a quiet anticipatory delight in wanting to see Crowley’s face when he was given his gift. Aziraphale knew the exact sort of smile he’d like to see; Crowley had all manner of smirks, smiles and grins, but there was that one, the one that he’d worn at the the start of the world, when neither of them had been worn down by the constant demands of their respective sides, before they’d had to stand by and watch the Flood and the Plague(s) and the Great Wars kill so many people, when he’d just turn to Aziraphale and smile with his whole face, and Aziraphale’s heart would flutter. If he could just see that smile once again he would be so happy. 

Aziraphale had decided that the Grand Unveiling of the Great Rooftop Garden Project would be on the day after the anniversary of the Notpocalypse, on the day that he viewed as the start of the relationship they were in now. Each braving the destruction of the other had been an explosive start, he supposed, but the lunch they’d had at the Ritz after had been quite lovely, and they both had seemed quite comfortable in the space they had carved out together. Crowley hadn’t spoken out loud about their new and hard won closeness, and so Aziraphale had kept quiet on his thoughts about the whole thing too. He’d been obsessing over the details of the Grand Unveiling for almost as long as he’d been designing the garden, however, going over what he was going to say to convince Crowley to stay without overwhelming him with feelings Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear. He’d booked them a table for 1pm this time, with the plan of lunch, a casual walk back to the bookshop, and then _The Big Reveal_. He was wearing his favourite smart jacket and trousers but had commissioned a lovely waistcoat and bow tie for the occasion in shades of light green, quite a daring colour choice for the angel. Crowley had arrived - on time for once! - in a flowing afternoon gown with graceful lines that nodded towards the Regency period in his usual black, with his hair pinned up in a graceful coiffure, red curls shaping his face. Aziraphale thought they made quite the striking pair against the white backdrop of the fancy hotel.

It was a lovely meal, in the end. Aziraphale had ordered one of everything on the dessert list (he’d always wanted to try doing so but had never felt it was quite polite. Since the Notpocalypse though he’d often felt like politeness could go hang, actually, as it was quite fun to be a little bit bad. He definitely blamed Crowley entirely of course) and Crowley had been persuaded to eat some creme bruleé alongside his Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee (which was not usually stocked by the Ritz restaurant but Crowley had insisted with a small miracle). The little gleeful grin on his face when he viciously broke through the sugar made Aziraphale giggle, and Crowley’s smile had _teeth_ as he leaned over the immaculate white table linen to whisper little cutting observations about the other customers in his ear. Aziraphale felt every inch of the space inbetween them. Something was different today, something was burning in Crowley’s eyes and Aziraphale wanted to bathe in the flames. He could feel the anticipation of _The Big Reveal_ fizzing in the bottom of his stomach every time Crowley shifted closer, when their fingers touched as he passed Aziraphale the sugar bowl, when Aziraphale was brave enough to briefly lay his hand on Crowley’s thigh. Crowley’s grin became tighter as his body sank into a deeper slouch; his eyes raked over Aziraphale like a physical touch, and all the angel could do was shiver and ask for the bill. 

As they stepped out into the unexpectedly sunny London afternoon Aziraphale took a deep breath to steady his nerves. It didn’t help, but he felt a little better for having at least tried. 

“I was wondering,” said Crowley, with an unexpected shift of his eyes as he leaned in towards Aziraphale as they walked down a fairly busy London street. “if you had any plans for now, or if you might want to come back to my flat.”

Aziraphale was floored. This was the first time Crowley had asked him over to his place in, well, ever. What an idea. But. But he had _plans_ , he needed Crowley to see the greenhouse and smile and then he could ask him to stay and this wasn’t the way it was meant to go. He had to say something to convince Crowley to come with him.

“That’s, well, that’s a very nice offer but I think we should be getting back to the bookshop.” 

“The bookshop.” Crowley’s voice was flat. “You want to go back to the bookshop.” He turned his head from Aziraphale for the first time since leaving the restaurant. 

“Um, yes?” 

“I’m offering for you to come back to my flat with me, right now, and you’re saying you want to go back to the bookshop.”

“With you of course, you see I-”

“Oh of course. And we’ll curl up with some books on the sofa set again, I imagine?”

“Ah, ah, well, that does sound nice but-”

“ _Nice?_ Nice! Oh well if its nice and tickety-boo to do the same thing we’ve done every day for a year then yeah, sure! Let’s be _nice_.” The last word came out as an extended hiss, and Aziraphale saw a flicker of forked tongue in Crowley’s mouth which may have distracted him at a very inopportune moment. He was quite confused as to why Crowley was shouting but as always was ready to admire Crowley in the grips of rage - when Crowley got angry it made the tendons in his neck tense and lengthen and Aziraphale may have a _tendre_ for that long expanse of skin that he certainly wouldn’t admit to out loud. Crowley had stopped dead in the street and was standing in an attack position, pointed directly at Aziraphale. If his wings were out they’d be mantled. Aziraphale was finding it all quite stimulating, but this was doing nothing to help with his comprehension of the particular predicament he had found himself entrenched in, however. 

“I, I don’t quite know what’s happening here. Have I, um, upset you in some way?” 

“Upset me??” Crowley screeches, waving his arms about and nearly knocking a toddler off her dad’s shoulders. They were definitely drawing attention now. Aziraphale’s hands had raised of their own accord, fluttering around Crowley but never quite touching him. All the closeness of before was gone, lost in a fleeting moment. 

“Really, my dear, I’m so sorry, we can do whatever it is that you want to do, I don’t mind.”

Crowley stopped abruptly. His whole body slumped in resigned acceptance. “It’s fine,” he stated in a monotone. “Completely fine. I’ll go to my flat and you can go back to your bookshop. Then we can both be happy. Be seeing you, Aziraphale.” He turned on one heel and strode away so quickly that Aziraphale had barely taken two steps before he’d disappeared with a flip of his dress around the corner. 

That was unexpected.

The plan. What about the plan? Aziraphale had been waiting for today for months, for the perfect moment to ask Crowley to move in with him. He’d been meticulous in his preparation. At lunch Crowley had seemed quite comfortable with Aziraphale’s somewhat bumbling attempts at flirting, hadn’t he? Maybe he’d pushed too far? Maybe Crowley had just been excited about them leaving the bookshop together and it hadn’t actually been anything more than that?

He was startled out of his reverie by a hand coming down on his shoulder. A tall younger gentleman dressed in the new-fangled fashion of ripped clothing and exciting hair had come to a stop next to Aziraphale, nudging him as he pointed in the direction Crowley had stormed off in.

“Wow, they’re a firecracker and a half! I love me a fiery redhead, you’re well in there mate!”The man clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder again and tipped him a wink before wandering onwards. Aziraphale grabbed at his chest. He agreed completely, he also loved a fiery redhead. 

He suddenly was hit by the memory of every single time Crowley had asked him to run away together during the lead up to the Notpocalypse. The desperation in Crowley’s voice when he’d pleaded with Aziraphale to go to Alpha Centauri, and the utter rejection in his body when Aziraphale had said denied him. He’d seen that same rejection in Crowley just now, which didn’t make any sense as Aziraphale hadn’t rejected him, he’d just said no to going to his flat so they could go see the greenhouse together. After Crowley’s behaviour at the restaurant Aziraphale had thought that Crowley might be quite receptive to Aziraphale’s own physical advances, if he could gather up the courage to make the first move.

Oh.

_Oh._

Aziraphale was a right ninny.

He took off at a run that would have both shocked and delighted Gabriel, barely stopping for a polite ‘Excuse me!’ when he barged past people and headed directly for Crowley’s flat.

The flat was silent when Aziraphale miracled the door open. 

“Crowley?” he enquired, peering round the door frame. There was no one there. Aziraphale stepped into the stark concrete space. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t something so austere. With how much sensual delight Crowley took in his clothing - all those silks and satins draped artfully across his body in shades of black - Aziraphale had expected more stylish elegance in his decor. In comparison to the chaos and cramped messiness of Hell though, perhaps the wide spaces of nothing made sense. He moved through the flat but he couldn’t find Crowley, not in the study, or in the long hallway with the, ah, _interesting_ statue that Aziraphale definitely intended to come back for a closer look at later, but he pulled up short when he entered what was obviously the plant room. Sunlight streamed in through the massive window and gently caressed the leaves of a multitude of glorious green foliage. There was a mild shiver that spread throughout the room as Aziraphale stepped into the centre of the space as if the plants had recognised someone new. Though the plants were lovely, that wasn’t what had caught Aziraphale’s eye, however. Underneath the window was an out of place looking love seat with a plush rose coloured velvet covering, and next to it was a small wooden table covered in a chintz tablecloth. There was a little gold reading lamp on it, and next to the lamp was a slender volume. Aziraphale picked it up - it was a book of sonnets by Elizabeth Barret Browning, and there was a bookmark at number 43.

“Oh Crowley,” he sighed, a gentle smile lighting up his entire face. He held the book to his chest, so moved by the tenderness evident in the carefully romantic choices laid out in front of him. But where was Crowley? Had he not returned to his flat at all? Aziraphale could feel the panic rising as he contemplated having to find Crowley somewhere out there in the outside world. 

Wait, there was one place left that he hadn’t checked, because Aziraphale never thought to use his own. 

He scurried down the hallway and opened the door at the end that he hadn’t gone into yet. Unlike the rest of the flat, Crowley’s bedroom was soft and comfy - there were great tapestries on the walls, and a thick rug, and in the middle was a massive four-poster bed piled high with duvets and pillows and quilts. Aziraphale felt a stab of sharp disappointment when he couldn’t see Crowley to begin with, but as he was turning away he saw a small movement out of the corner of his eye. There was something underneath the pile of soft furnishings. He stepped up to the bed and - there! The tiniest tip of a tail, peeking out from under an embroidered pillow. 

“Oh my sweetest darling,” Aziraphale whispered as he slid back a couple of quilts to find more of Crowley’s coils. He pulled off his shoes and divested himself of his jacket and waistcoat and then climbed daringly into the bed. There came a quiet hiss from somewhere under the pile. 

“My dear,” started Aziraphale, “I must apologise to you, and beg your forgiveness. It seems I have been a most unmitigated blockhead, and I have, in my foolishness, caused you some considerable hurt. I can only say how sorry I am, my dear one, for keeping you waiting all this time.”

There was movement under the duvets and another hiss, somewhat closer this time. 

“I saw how you had decorated your plant room, and I was quite taken with it.”

The shuffling under the covers grew closer. 

“Really, for you to go to all that effort for me and on our anniversary too. I am overcome.”

There was a sudden pop of shifting air and then Crowley’s human head appeared out from under a cosy looking quilt with little white feathers on. 

“You remembered?”

“Hmm? What’s that, my dear?”

Crowley sat more upright and scooted over to be closer to Aziraphale. He wasn’t wearing his glasses and his eyes gleamed an intense yellow in the dim light. 

“You remembered today was our anniversary.”

“Well of course I did, it’s an easy date to remember. The day after we were all saved; the day you saved me again.”

“Angel.” Crowley’s voice was flat with a forced emotionlessness and Aziraphale turned to him, gathering up his courage and placing the book directly between them. He looked down at Crowley’s hand, and reached out to grasp it with his.

“I love you, Crowley.”

There, he’d said it. No more Great Plans, no more procrastinating, no more writing and rewriting speeches just to ask for the smallest part of Crowley in return. This was just Aziraphale, opening up fully to the demon he’d loved for a lifetime. This was it, the truth in its entirety. He wanted everything, he wanted Crowley, and he could feel the desire for Crowley to know that burning him up from the inside like hellfire.

Why wasn’t Crowley saying anything. 

Aziraphale looked up sharply, with no idea what he expected to see on Crowley’s face. What he saw, however, would stay with him unto the actual End of Days, if they ever came. 

Crowley was looking directly at him with the most unguarded expression Aziraphale had seen in thousands of years. Years of pain and loneliness that had built a hard shell of casual disdain and dismissal had been torn away, and there at the heart was Crowley, vulnerable and scared and so so hopeful. He slipped his hand out from underneath Aziraphale’s careful touch and lifted it, shaking, to cup the angel’s cheek, eyes darting about over Aziraphale’s face as if to catalogue every moment that passed between them. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Aziraphale’s hand came up to cradle Crowley’s, not wanting to waste a second where he could be touching his beloved. 

He tried again. “Crowley, my dearest demon, I love you.”

Crowley burst into tears.

“Oh my darling,” exclaimed Aziraphale, wrapping Crowley up in his arms and snugging him into his ample chest. Crowley’s sobs were muffled into his shoulder and he felt his shirt becoming quite damp. The poor demon was quite overwhelmed, it seemed. Crowley’s arms came up to lock tight around the angel’s chest, pulling him closer. He mumbled something through the tears that was lost into Aziraphale’s body.

“I’m sorry, my love, could you repeat that a little louder?”

“…I didn’t think you’d follow me….” said Crowley, sniffing loudly and then hiccupping, once. Always the flamboyant drama queen, thought Aziraphale fondly, and smoothed back his hair. He rocked him gently from side to side, revelling in the pure sensation of touch that they had denied themselves for so long. His heart was pounding but he was floating on a sea of calm, as if something that had been slightly ajar inside him had clicked together to form a seamless whole.

“I haven’t set a terribly good precedent for that in the past, have I? I am truly sorry, dearest. I promise to make it up to you.”

There’s another loud sniff followed by a shuddering deep breath. 

“…you already have.”

“That’s very sweet of you to say but I must firmly disagree with you. Now then, I have a handkerchief here somewhere, I’m sure.”

He dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out a gleaming white square which he handed off to Crowley. “Here you go, my dear. Perhaps you could dry your face and sit up here with me, and I could tell you how much I love you again.” 

Crowley turned the same colour as his hair and hid his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale patiently held him until he felt recovered enough to talk. 

“Angel.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Would you. Um. Would you read to me?”

Aziraphale felt something catch in his throat. Of course, such a simple fix to what had turned into a knotty problem. The perfect way to include Crowley into his reading habit. 

“Any time you like,” he promised, shifting Crowley more firmly into his chest and rooting out the book from where it was lying beneath them, turning to the bookmarked page. “Any time you want. Ask me darling and I can hardly deny you.”

Crowley relaxed by another increment, a slight leftover tension that Aziraphale had barely even noticed. He hoped that Crowley had read into that statement everything that Aziraphale was offering to him. He cleared his throat, squinted a little at the page, and began- 

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach…”

*************

The next morning found them standing outside the bookshop. Aziraphale was suddenly overcome with a wave of nerves and nausea. What if he didn’t like it? What if after everything they said to each other last night Crowley didn’t want to move in with him? Oh it was almost too much to bear. He stood with one hand on the door handle, frozen in the doorway. 

Slender fingers stretched past him and grasped the door handle and his hand, turning both so the door opened with a soft click. 

“Are you feeling nervous, angel?” Crowley purred into his ear, stepping close into Aziraphale but not quite touching him. Aziraphale could feel the air between them crackle; this was not-touching with _intent_. He forced himself not to wiggle in anticipation. Last night had been lovely with Aziraphale’s confession and Crowley wrapping himself around Aziraphale’s body to snuggle whilst they enjoyed Elizabeth’s sonnets together, but Aziraphale was still wanting more, if at all possible. Which is why when Crowley had woken up this morning Aziraphale had told him about the gift waiting for him back at the bookshop. 

_“Gift? You mean a gift for me?” Crowley had sounded completely flummoxed by the very notion. Aziraphale felt a little guilty for never getting him anything before, he was a terrible best friend._

__

__

_“It was meant to be a surprise, my dear, I’ve been working on it for a while.”_

_Crowley stood straight up from the love seat. “Time to be off then!”_

_“My goodness, right now? But you haven’t finished your coffee.”_

_“Coffee be damned, angel, I want to open my present!”_

_“Patience is a virtue, darling,” Aziraphale said pointedly as he carefully placed his teacup in his saucer and stood up, brushing down his waistcoat._

_Crowley raised an eyebrow and leered. “Sounds boring. Maybe I should introduce you to some sins to balance out your virtues, hmm?”_

_Demons! Aziraphale turned bright pink and spluttered, rushing out of the flat to the sound of Crowley’s snigger._

So now they were here, making their way up the spiral staircase and into the disused hallway of Aziraphale’s flat. He led the way to the far end and clicked his fingers. A wrought iron set of steps led up to a landing with a newly revealed glass door. 

“Nice,” remarked Crowley. He ran his fingers over the twisted metal as they ascended. “I had no idea you’d done any of this.”

“Well,” started Aziraphale, blushing again. “You’re quite a sound sleeper.” He refused to look Crowley in the eye. He ushered him up the steps in front of him. “Watch yourself at the top, the last step’s a little off.” 

When they got to the top of the stairs Aziraphale stopped Crowley from going through the door by holding on to his elbow. 

“Crowley,” he began, before trailing off. All of the fancy speeches he had so painstakingly written for Crowley had abandoned him. 

Crowley, being Crowley, decided to cut to the heart of the matter. “Time for the big surprise, angel. Want me to shut my eyes and hold your hand?” He waggled his long fingers at Aziraphale but he refused to be diverted.

“Oh, you’re right!” he replied, bouncing on his heels. “Maybe I should miracle up a blindfold for you?”

Crowley leaned in to Aziraphale’s personal space. “Sounds kinky. I’m in.”

Aziraphale spluttered again. “Oh, you, you..!”

“Tempter?” drawled Crowley, licking his bottom lip, drawing Aziraphale’s attention down to that razor sharp grin. He swayed forward, drawn to Crowley as always, and then looked up into Crowley’s knowing eyes. He winked. Aziraphale squeaked, turning bright red, and fluttered one hand at his face in a futile attempt to cool himself down. “That is, I mean, I’m not completely opposed, of course, but perhaps we should apply ourselves to the matter at hand first.”

Crowley looked surprised, and then a wicked smirk painted itself across his face. “That’s very interesting indeed, angel. Don’t think I’ll be forgetting about this conversation though. We’ll have to pick it up again. Later.”

“Yes, well, indeed.” Aziraphale stumbled over his reaction. Really, Crowley was such a great distraction, and now Aziraphale was having all sorts of thoughts as to what might happen ‘later’.

He needed to redecorate the bedroom, for one thing.

“Angel,” prompted Crowley. Aziraphale looked up abruptly. Oops. He wasn’t sure how long he’d spaced out standing there… thinking.

“Yes! Yes of course, lets go right in then.”

Crowley was trying his best not to look fond. Aziraphale pointedly ignored the sparkle in his eye and finally pushed open the glass door into the greenhouse.

The smell of damp earth and happily growing plants was a balm to the charged atmosphere they’d created. The little gravel path that Aziraphale had laid crunched under their feet as they moved into the space, brushing past the tendrils of ferns that were spilling over.

Crowley hadn’t said anything yet, and when Aziraphale looked over at him his face was completely blank. He’d pulled off his glasses and his eyes were darting about the place, trying to take everything in at once. Aziraphale saw them catch on the stained glass, the automated watering system, and the obvious gaps in the planting, small patches of bare soil waiting for Crowley’s own beloved plants to take up residence. 

They rounded a stand of pampas grass and came upon the crowning glory of the whole Plan. On a small hillock, in the centre of the greenhouse, bordered on one side by a tiny stream that could Crowley could now see bisected the space, were two apple trees, leaning towards each other to intermingle their branches. 

“That’s a White Angel,” said Crowley, in a small, stunned voice. Aziraphale felt a tug on his hand, and when he looked down Crowley’s fingertips were twining with his own, He laced them together properly and took a step closer to him as Crowley’s grip turned tight. He glanced back towards the trees. It had taken a miracle, but the two trees were in different stages of blooming - the White Angel was crowned with small white flowers on every branch. The other was was laden with gleaming red apples the exact colour of Crowley’s hair.

“The other tree is yours,” offered Aziraphale. 

“A Red Devil, huh.”

“You recognise it?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. Crowley was staring straight ahead at the trees, still not moving. His voice though, there was a catch in it that Aziraphale hadn’t heard before. He placed his free hand on Crowley’s forearm in an unconscious effort to provide comfort. He could feel Crowley shaking every so slightly through his cardigan. 

“My dear?” he asked softly, when Crowley didn’t say anything more. Crowley turned his head completely away from Aziraphale, and all of a sudden the angel was terrified that he’d done the wrong thing, that this was too much, too fast, and he’d pushed Crowley too far. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to break the strained silence when Crowley turned his face to Aziraphale’s, and there it was, the smile Aziraphale had waited nearly 6000 years to see again. It lit up Crowley’s face from the inside, and Aziraphale was so thankful that he’d taken off his glasses because he could see in full glory the crow’s feet that framed his yellow eyes, fanning out in delight, his mouth so wide and his teeth flashing, and the sweetest look he could ever remember seeing on his darling’s face. Crowley moved close and gently settled his forehead against Aziraphale’s, who had to squint to get Crowley’s face into focus at such a short distance. The smile persisted and Aziraphale could feel it filling up all the knobbly bits in his soul until he felt smooth and whole again. The loneliness and heartache of his lifetime spent on earth felt wrapped up and gently put to one side, and he finally allowed himself to bask under Crowley’s attention. Neither of them noticed the soft glow that was rising up around them, but the sun seemed to defy the dismal grey of London to fill the greenhouse with warm and soothing light. 

“Hey angel,” Crowley whispered, so that even the plants couldn’t hear him. Aziraphale hummed contentedly. “Wanna help me move in?” 

Aziraphale reared back in surprise as Crowley laughed. “You mean, you really want to?”

Crowley swept him up in his arms, and buried his head in Aziraphale’s neck, muffling his snickers as Aziraphale squirmed from his tickly breath. “Crowley!” he gasped out, but Crowley’s arms just pulled tighter around him. “Of course I wanna move in, angel,” he could just about make out, and he placed one gentle hand on the back of Crowley’s neck, feeling a smile as wide as Crowley’s break across his own face. He went to wiggle but Crowley had him trapped, and now he was looking at Aziraphale again with the remnants of the glorious smile playing about his mouth. Aziraphale couldn’t look away as Crowley leant down and placed the softest kiss on the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale’s lips parted in something like surprise, but more like coming home, as he chased after Crowley and proceeded to kiss him quite thoroughly, in amongst the flowers and the apple trees. They parted, breathing heavily, and Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s face with one shaky hand. 

“Is it later yet?” he asked devilishly, and when Aziraphale blushed as red as the fruit on his tree he laughed and kissed him again.


End file.
